


And Shadows Follow In Your Every Footstep

by Heizpilz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Altered canon, Flashbacks, Future Fic, M/M, can't think of anything else significant enough to warrant a tag, of the narrative not the traumatic kind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-09-24 05:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17094482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heizpilz/pseuds/Heizpilz
Summary: Stiles has finally left Beacon Hills behind and starts at the FBI. It’s what he’s wanted for a long time. He’s worked hard for it. However, on his very first day he’s confronted with his past and has to decide if it is worth risking his future.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starts immediately after Stiles watches the video of Derek shown by the FBI instructor but set a few years in the future with a slightly altered history. (Basically I can’t be arsed to pay attention to anything unrelated to Sterek, so I made Derek come back to Beacon Hills soon after Mexico and part of canon events.) Also pretends Derek was wolved out in the video because why else would the instructor call him feral?

 

**1.**

 

“Ariana.”

Stiles is still trying to close his hastily packed rucksack after the introduction period but he filled it so haphazardly that his stationary keeps tumbling out. As he chases after the woman who sat in front of him, he has to bend down every few steps to pick up an item that escaped the confines of the bag. Eventually he’s just about ready to give up and nearly headbutts her _actual_ butt when she stops abruptly.

Caught off guard he flails back, almost toppling over backwards because, fuck, this is embarrassing and on his first day, too! “Ariana.” He tries a winning smile when she slowly turns to look at him with an annoyed expression that could rival Lydia’s. “I wanted to apologize for...”

“Getting my name wrong?” she asks sardonically.

“What? No. Yes. What? Wait. Your name isn’t Ariana?”

“It’s Ariadne. Which you’d know if you paid attention to anything other than your OCD in class.”

 _Yes, this is going really well._ He was so proud and happy and quite frankly _relieved_ to finally get here, and now it’s all gone to shit in less than a day. He takes a deep breath. “Ariadne. Got it. Sorry for getting your name wrong and also for getting water on you in class. I was just... I didn’t mean... I’m really sorry.” _Note to self: next time you decide to apologize to someone make sure you know what you want to say. And what their actual name is._

She runs a hand over her hair where he sprayed her with his drink earlier and he expects her to just walk away, but then she rolls her eyes – also very Lydia-like. “Are you always this dorky?”

He nods. “Dorky. Clumsy. Nerdy. Geeky. You name it, I’m it.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute with it, too,” she says. “You can invite me to lunch and explain to me how you ever managed to get onto this course.”

Right now, Stiles would much rather be alone but he promised himself not to decline any invitations he might get, no matter how much he may not feel like it at the time. He’s a long way from home and some friends would be nice. He doesn’t want to end up in another bubble containing just one or two friends – or none at all. This time he’ll have lots of them.

Sitting at the lunch table in the cafeteria, Ariadne chats about her career so far and her hometown – Boston – and Stiles doesn’t know how to respond. He could tell her about Beacon Hills, about his degree, about his five-year stint as a deputy at his father's station but that wasn’t the important part of his life and he can never tell anyone about why he left and why the East Coast. Besides, his mind is firmly on a certain person he saw in the video the instructor showed them. Luckily other people from the course are joining them. Introductions are made, remarks about the course exchanged and Stiles is still only half-listening. Every now and then he makes a concerted effort to join in but it’s half-hearted at best.

He thought he was free of the supernatural. He’s at the other end of the country for fuck’s sake! How much further does he have to go to leave all things that go bump in the night behind? It’s not that he thinks weird things only happen in Beacon Hills because they must come from somewhere before they descend on his town and his pack to make everyone’s life a misery. He was just hoping that he could go back to dealing with the other things in life, like criminals without fangs and claws or maybe saving a kitten or two. And catching the odd serial killer. Of the human kind. That would be good, too.

Eventually he gives lunch up as a lost cause and makes an excuse to leave. Outside in the forecourt he beelines the quietest corner, already speed-dialing Scott. It takes only three rings until his best friend answers.

_“Hey, Stiles, didn’t expect you to call again so soon. How’s your first day going?”_

“Do you know where Derek is?”

_“What?... No, I don’t.”_

There are times when Stiles really wishes he’d taken Peter up on his offer to turn him. Being able to hear when people are lying would be such a boon in law enforcement – and in situations like this. “Okay... Scott? Buddy. My man.  My pal. I know I told you to lie to me but I really need to know: do you have a way of getting in touch with him?”

_“Of course not.”_

That came out way too fast. Didn’t it? Or maybe it was fast because it’s the truth and Scott didn’t have to think about it. Stiles just can’t tell. He makes a frustrated face that Scott obviously can’t see.

_“Stiles? What brought this on? You haven’t spoken about him in ages.”_

Stiles looks around furtively. If he gets caught talking about his ‘work’ to an outsider, he’ll surely get fired. Hey, maybe he can set a new record for the fastest ever dismissal from the FBI. However, nobody seems to be paying him any attention. “Derek's apparently wanted by the FBI.”

_“Really? Wow. What for?”_

“What do you think? Murder, of course. Does he ever get accused of anything less? Only this time he’s gone one better, this time it’s _mass_ murder.”

_“Jeez. The guy’s such a shit magnet.”_

Yeah, amongst other things Stiles could think of. “Do you know how to contact him?” he asks again, hoping that Scott will tell the truth this time. Surely he must realize this is different from when Stiles asked before. This _isn’t_ a relapse.

_“I really don’t. Sorry, man. But I can make some inquiries, okay?”_

It’ll have to do for now. “Yeah, you do that. Thanks, dude.” Scott’s probably just going to ask Peter or maybe Deaton. Stiles could do that himself but he knows that when he asked Scott not to talk to him about Derek anymore nor answer any questions he might ask, Scott also told his pack and anyone else who knows Derek and now nobody will tell him anything. They’ve taken away his crack and until today it worked. Kind of. Because Stiles is quite capable of obsessing without any outside help. His brain is simply hotwired that way.

The whole week he tells himself that he’s doing really well. Scott texted him that ‘they’ sent a message to Derek but that he hasn’t responded and Stiles just replied with thanks. He didn’t ask any follow-up questions and didn’t mention Derek when he next spoke to Scott. So far, so good.

However, on Monday, when the instructor lays out the different cases they can join and the case of the ‘feral man’ comes up, Stiles’s hand shoots up with such alacrity he’s rivaling Hermione Granger. As he looks around nervously for how much competition he has, he notices that all the other fledgling agents are shrinking back in their seats with lowered eyes. Obviously nobody is interested in hunting down Bigfoot. Which is good, it really is, because naturally it means that he’s selected, but it also makes him aware that the PowerPoint presentation he prepared over the weekend to make his case was maybe a little excessive.

It’s not a good sign.

 

 

 

_“Are you sure he’ll be alright?” Scott asked, hovering on the sidewalk by the open window of the Jeep. “Maybe you should take him to Deaton.”_

_Eyeing Derek who was hunched over his injuries in the passenger seat, Stiles shook his head. “No. Why? This is just another day in the preserve for him.” He turned and said much louder, “Isn’t it, Derek?”_

_Derek flinched at the noise, glowered at him and snarled, “Will you just take me home already?”_

_“Of course, your wish is my command.” Stiles gave Scott a reassuring nod. Derek had sustained worse wounds in the past although not many. Still, he wasn’t in any danger of dying any time soon and everything else he would prefer to suffer in private, fucking idiot that he was._

_Scott smiled back. “Look after him. He saved my life back there.”_

_The drive to the loft was aggressively silent with Stiles vacillating between concern and seething anger. Derek stumbled into the building and swayed in the elevator while Stiles jingled his keys in his habitual manner until Derek grabbed his shoulder and growled, “If you don’t stop that, I will ram those damned keys down your throat.”_

_“Really?” Stiles asked. “That’s what you’re going with? Threatening violence? I could probably kick your werewolf ass all the way from here to the preserve right now but sure, go ahead, pretend that you’re not half-dead and need my help. Again.”_

_“I don’t need you,” Derek practically wheezed as he tried to stand up straighter._

_Stiles almost regretted his words because this wasn’t the way to get Derek to accept the tender loving care he so clearly needed – and Stiles was, oh, so desperate to give. Nobody ever treated Derek like he needed looking after, like he deserved it. They watched him jump into danger and take bullets meant for someone else like he did for Scott tonight but when it came down to it everyone just thanked him and no one ever bothered to check up if he was okay. Because Derek healed, right? He was used to getting hurt. He could handle it._

_Stiles knew that being able to ‘handle it’ and wishing someone, anyone, would just show some care and attention nonetheless were two different things. He’d 'coped' when his mother died and his father had been a mess but without Scott and Melissa he wouldn’t have. He would have seriously gone off the rails. That didn’t mean that to this day he’d ever learnt to let Melissa just do her thing. He still pretended not to notice her occasional mothering and never let on how grateful he was. Melissa always let him, too._

_For once Stiles was faster than Derek and pulled the heavy loft door open for him. Derek staggered inside and just let himself drop onto his bed, grunting as he disturbed his wounds. Without a word, Stiles locked the door and then set about getting Derek out of his blood-soaked clothing and washed him down with the washcloth from the bathroom. It was scary how familiar it all was._

_The bullet wounds on Derek's torso were easier to see now. Stiles opened several bullets they’d taken from the hunters in the preserve and emptied them into a small dish before setting them alight. He’d done this twice since he’d come back to Beacon Hills last year so it was almost routine, but he never had to do it for anyone else, always Derek. When the flame went out he used a teaspoon to put small amounts of the mixture on Derek's entry wounds. Then he took the dish back into the bathroom. He wasn’t keen on watching Derek writhe in agony as the powder did its magic, thank you very much._

_Long after he finished cleaning the dish he still lingered in the bathroom, fighting down a belated panic attack and then the tears that filled his eyes. He couldn’t do this anymore. When he was away at college he could pretend his life was almost normal but now that he was back permanently it was so much harder than before to live with the constant danger. At any point one of his friends could die. Derek could die. In fact Derek was the most likely to die because he never fucking looked out for himself!_

_As if on cue Derek appeared in the doorway feigning surprise. “You’re still here. Why didn’t you go home?”_

_And Stiles just snapped. It was obvious that Derek knew full well he was still in the loft, that this was meant as a dismissal, his cue to leave, that awkward moment when they could either go back to bickering or would have to admit that Stiles was always ‘still here’._

_It would have been unfair to say that Derek hadn’t changed a lot since Stiles met him. After the initial animosity, they had formed a reluctant friendship, then a more enthusiastic one. Their banter was legendary, the staple of their relationship and Stiles had come to look forward to it. But whenever they got deeper, when the slightest admission of emotion was required, Derek withdrew. He either carried on their lightheartedness long after it started jarring with the mood of the situation or he withdrew completely and became dismissive._

_“I hate you,” Stiles said in a shaky voice and for just a moment it was true. He hated how Derek made him feel sometimes, how he craved Derek's company, how he could be radiantly happy spending time with him and then so incredibly hurt when Derek changed within moments into a cold and emotionless stranger._

_Derek seemed taken aback for a second then he shrugged. “Figures.”_

_And Stiles was in his personal space immediately, shouting at him about what a boneheaded idiot he was, how he could never just let himself go, how he was emotionally constipated… and then he kissed him. Up until that moment he hadn’t been aware that he would do that or that he even wanted to at that point in time. But Derek's face was so close and he looked so hurt that it just happened. Within seconds everything in him screamed about consent and how monumentally he’d just fucked up._

_However, Derek's reaction was to kiss him back, then simply pick him up and carry him to the bed. The kiss was frantic and a little sloppy on the way there. Stiles had been waiting so long for this, had fantasized about kissing Derek and jerked off to thoughts of having sex with him because, hey, it was better than jerking off to thoughts of Lydia, right? Then he’d realized, no, not really, objectifying a guy you knew wasn’t morally superior just because he was a guy. So he‘d been watching a lot of porn since then and if he had a type that was completely his own business. But yeah, he’d been waiting so the kissing was without any finesse and just raw desperation and relief with noses and teeth getting in the way._

_Stiles’s clothes creaked ominously in his haste to take them off when he was horizontal and Derek was already half-naked. At this time of his life Stiles was no longer a virgin so he was down with hard and fast because this was not romantic or loving. If anything it was hate sex, something you do when you’re angry and pumped._

_And then it wasn’t._

_When Derek blanketed him with his body he was slow and thorough in everything he did. He explored Stiles’s skin, paying close attention to Stiles’s reactions and going over the areas that elicited the loudest moans again and again. It was heaven and it lasted longer than Stiles would have thought possible because Derek wasn’t content with making him come just the once._

_Stiles fell asleep with a smile on his face, exhausted and satiated._

_The aftermath was brutal in its unsurprising banality. He awoke covered in body fluids and he didn’t need werewolf senses to know that he reeked of sex. But that wasn’t a problem as such, unpleasant but easily remedied. The real problem was Derek, who was sitting on the big table with his feet on one of the chairs, his elbows on his knees holding a large mug of coffee which he contemplated as if it held the answers to all the secrets of the universe._

_“Morning,” Stiles said when he finally managed to get his body into a sitting position on the edge of the bed._

_Derek nodded a silent acknowledgement, lifting his eyes just enough so he could look at Stiles._

_And Stiles just knew. Ordinarily he wasn’t shy about his body any longer. If he fucked someone they must have been attracted to him enough to want to and if that attraction didn’t last past the sex, why should Stiles care? It’s not as if he wanted more than what he got anyway. Not usually._

_But this was Derek. And Stiles definitely wanted Derek. He’d wanted him for a long time, alternating his affections between Derek and the equally unattainable Lydia. It was mind-blowing that one of his fantasies had come true but now it was no longer a fantasy that came when he wanted it and disappeared when he was done, to be ignored until he was ready to think about it again. Here he was, feeling incredible exposed under Derek's gaze, wanting to please him, wanting to be considered attractive, wanting some sign that this was more, that it meant something to Derek._

_He bit his lips to stop himself from asking what last night had been all about or worse: confessing his feelings. Instead he put his clothes on, his skin tingling unpleasantly, his mind raw and fragile as if he was just seconds away from losing it. His keys and his phone were on the low coffee table over by the couch and straightening from picking them up, he finally managed to look Derek in the eye. “Mistake,” he more stated than questioned because the answer was pretty obvious from Derek's demeanor._

_Derek hesitated barely a moment and there was a flicker of emotion, unable to identify with his face in shadow from the large window behind him and come and gone in a split second, before he nodded solemnly._

_Stiles licked his lips, nodded as well, and said, “Yep,” more to himself than Derek before walking out of the loft. He managed to get through the whole day as if nothing had happened and only cried when he lay in bed that night. His life was such a mess._

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

**2.**

 

“So how did you guys decide this time?” Sabrina asks as she’s fixing her hair in a ponytail – while she’s driving.

Although there are no other cars on the wide road, Stiles grips the handle above the door of the Hummer a bit tighter just in case. “Decide what?”

“Who’s to join our team, of course. Don’t worry, we know that nobody wants to work with us. Last year the rookies played rock, paper, scissors, which wasn’t particularly imaginative but the year before they did a scavenger hunt and the person who _didn’t_ find an alien had to come on our team.”

“I volunteered.”

That statement makes Jared, who’s been trying to sleep stretched out on the backseat, pop his head up between their shoulders. “You _volunteered?_ Why would you do that?”

“I believe you owe me two bucks,” Sabrina says with the laugh and holds up her palm until her partner grudgingly places two bills into it. “We’ve been having this bet on for the last five years that no one will ever willingly join us.” The money disappears into the breast pocket of her suit while Jared settles back down to his nap. “So why did you want to work with us?”

Stiles shrugs nonchalantly. “I like weird.” It's a blatant lie. Ever since high school he's had a deep appreciation for normal.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. I believe Jared and I are commonly referred to as Mulder and Scully.”

“Please don’t tell me there are aliens,” Stiles groans. He hasn’t slept much since he found out that Derek is a wanted man again, partly because he’s worried that someone might actually catch him this time around and partly because whenever he thinks about Derek his mind inevitably dwells on the past - the good, the bad and the ugly.

“I’m keeping an open mind,” Sabrina says cheerily. “But not seen any so far.”

“Good to know.” It really is. Just like his father draws the line at time travel, Stiles draws it at extraterrestrials.

They’ve been driving through rural Virginia for half an hour and come to their destination, a secluded house that reminds him of the Hale house simply because it’s surrounded by dense forest.

“This is, or rather _was,_ the home of one Samuel Aaron Cutter, 56, a semi-retired accountant,” Sabrina says as she cuts the police seals over the door. “He lived alone, didn’t have any family or many friends and was killed on the ninth of this month.”

Stiles follows her into the neat, if a little stale-smelling living room where there is the familiar chalk outline of a body that’s been long since removed. A large blood stain speaks of a violent end.

Jared wanders in after them and hands Stiles a blue folder. “Brace yourself.”

The photos aren’t particularly gruesome by his standards but they are unmistakably of werewolf slashes mostly to the face and torso of a middle-aged man, presumably Sam Cutter. Stiles scans the rest of the report. The man died of blood loss and there were no signs of forced entry.

His two new colleagues look at him expectantly.

“Looks like an animal attack,” Stiles says carefully.

Jared grins and holds out his palm to Sabrina. “You owe me two bucks.”

Sabrina’s smile doesn’t waver and she makes no move to pull any money out of her pocket. Her eyes are still on Stiles. “Wait for it.”

“But that would mean that Cutter let a wild animal into his house. And after killing him said animal closed the door when it left. Also there are no signs of a struggle. It’s much more consistent with being killed by someone he trusted or at least didn’t expect to attack him.” Stiles looks at the other two. “Some kind of garden utensil used as the weapon maybe?”

Sabrina gives her partner a what-did-I-tell-you smirk. “I knew you’d be a smart one,” she tells Stiles.

It turns out that Sam Cutter is actually the fourth victim of what the FBI assumes is the same perp. The other three were killed on the same night but because they died out in the open an animal attack was considered feasible. It wasn't until Cutter was detected two days later when a friend came to visit that any suspicion arose. Stiles doesn’t need to look up the moon phases to know that the ninth was a full moon.

“Any connections between the victims?”

“None,” Jared says. “They all lived in the area obviously but only two knew each other even vaguely. But the guy in the last photo was seen that night and he looks like he doesn’t even need a weapon to do this.”

Yes, and that guy would be one Derek Hale, fully transformed to his beta shift, which Stiles wasn’t aware he could still do, to be honest. The picture is a still from the video he saw at Quantico and a little blurry, so he doesn’t think there’s any chance that he would be recognized when he’s sporting his normal chiseled jaw and cheekbones. “Isn’t that like judging a book by its cover?” he asks nonchalantly.

“I like this one,” Sabrina says. “This one can stay.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says drily. He really doesn’t want to join a team that deals with the supernatural on a daily basis. While he could shine with his knowledge and probably should join so he can prevent anything coming to light that should stay in the dark, he has his heart set on a normal life, one that doesn’t remind him at every turn.

“Now let’s go do some house to house.”

Out in the country house-to-house means driving around a lot to find many houses with no one home or inhabitants who have neither seen nor heard anything. Luckily that includes the ‘feral mystery man’, which most assume is just a terribly distorted picture.

After a lunch consisting of a snack and a soda from a roadside gas station in the middle of nowhere, they drive up to yet another house in the forest where you wouldn’t expect anyone could survive. Stiles is starting to think of Beacon County as densely populated by comparison.

It’s Jared’s turn to stay in the car. Stiles’s doesn’t get any turns at that because they're ‘training’ him despite his five years experience as a deputy, but showing his brand new FBI badge will take a long time to get old so he doesn’t mind at all.

As they walk towards the main building a man steps out of the shadow of the open barn. “Looking for something?”

“Yes, you, presumably,” Sabrina says in her friendly I-am-harmless voice. Maybe it’s her hair that’s starting to grey but she gives off a very deceptive vibe of a middle-aged school teacher who likes to gossip and wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Stiles has recognized the voice of the stranger before he’s finished turning around to face him. Derek-fucking-Hale as he lives and breathes. It’s been three years since he last saw him and naturally Derek's as stunning as he's always been. Stiles’s mouth has gone dry all of a sudden.

Derek gives Stiles a long elevator look that makes Sabrina flash a smirk before he turns to her. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“I’m Agent Sutton and this is my colleague Agent Stilinski. We’re with the FBI.” She pokes Stiles in the arm when he doesn’t promptly produce his badge because he still hasn’t quite recovered his wits. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course,” Derek says easily, angling his body towards her and completely ignoring Stiles, who couldn’t say a word if his life depended on it. “I’m Derek Hale. Ask away.”

Sabrina poses the usual questions about where he was ten days ago and whether he saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. At no point does she realize that she’s actually talking to their main suspect. Eventually she’s satisfied that Derek doesn’t know anything and thanks him for his cooperation.

“One more question,” Stiles says finally finding his voice. “How long have you lived here?”

Derek eyes him with a tilted head, the first time he’s acknowledged Stiles’s presence since the introduction. “Just over two years.”

“And where were you before that?”

“Here and there. I travelled for a bit. Before that I lived in California and New York. Is this relevant to your enquiries, Agent Stilinski?”

“Not at all,” Sabrina interjects quickly and nudges Stiles in the direction of their car while saying her goodbyes. When they’re both seated she grins at him, “You could have just asked for his number instead of his life story. He was checking you out big time. Jeez, why are all the good-looking guys gay?”

“I’m not,” Jared pipes up and starts the car.

“You’re the exception that proves the rule,” she says in a deadpan voice.

Stiles is barely listening to their good-natured banter. He knows they’ll be canvassing until it gets dark or until they run out of homes to visit that are reasonably close enough to the crime scenes to warrant making enquiries. With the way the properties are spaced out here, he suspects the latter might happen first.

It’s dusk when they drop him off at his motel. Jared has distant cousins living in the area and both he and Sabrina are staying with them for the duration of the case. They invite Stiles to dinner but he declines. He doesn’t have time for this, so he feigns tiredness. As soon as they’re out of sight he grabs some food from the diner next door and eats while driving.

It takes him half an hour to get back to the cabin in the woods. It’s actually much bigger than a cabin, more like a farmhouse and has a large barn and two other buildings. By now the sky is completely dark and there’s only a faint light coming from one of the rooms in the house. Stiles feels the normal unease of a city dweller in a remote place at night. The moon is out, still waning, but there’s no other illumination.

When he switches his Jeep off, there’s complete silence, apart from the ticking over of the engine which fades eventually. Even in the Beacon Hills Preserve, the absence of background noises was always unnerving to him. Here and now it’s downright spooky.

After some minutes the front door to the house opens, casting a diffuse light that seems bright in the surrounding darkness, and Derek appears in the doorway. Breathing a sigh of relief Stiles realizes that up until this moment he’d expected the place to be deserted with Derek vanished into thin air again. He can’t hesitate any longer without looking like an idiot, so he gets out of the car, gently pushing the door shut with a soft click. It feels appropriate in the quiet woods.

“Hey, Derek. Long time no see.” As soon as the words leave his mouth he wants to bite off his tongue because that must be one of the lamest greetings ever.

“You saw me this morning,” Derek points out coldly and turns to walk back inside.

Stiles takes the open door as an invitation to follow and shuts it when he’s inside. Immediately the light is no longer bright but subdued, leaving the furniture and nooks and crannies in shadow. He’s still confident that there’s nothing lurking there because nothing gets past Derek.

The living room gives him a feeling of déjà vu being spacious and sparsely furnished but that’s all Stiles’s registers because all he can see is Derek leaning against the arm of a large comfortable looking chair. He has so many questions without any real right to ask them and now he can’t think of anything to say. Derek looks _so good!_ His hair’s tousled in that perfect way that makes it look effortless and he’s grown a beard that ages him by a few years. Stiles has to remind himself that it no longer matters how old Derek looks compared to him.

He wants to say, _I love you, I miss you, please forgive me, I can’t bear to lose you again,_ but what he actually says is, “The FBI has a video of you, shifted, and they think you killed those four people.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know that.” Stiles makes a ‘duh’ face that gets no reaction. “Do you know who did?”

“Who’s asking? Stiles or Agent Stilinski?”

“It’s just me, Derek, can we not play games?”

Derek huffs a humorless laugh. “I’m not the one who plays games, if I remember correctly.” There’s no inflection as if he’s just stating a fact that doesn’t concern him one way or the other. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe he really doesn’t care about Stiles in any shape or form.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you said that. But there was never any need to apologize. You got what you always wanted and why wouldn’t you go for it? I never begrudged you that. I don’t know why you ever thought I did.”

It hurts. The casual way Derek manages to talk about their past and his familiar I’m-so-much-older-and-wiser-than-you routine. Stiles hates it but he simply doesn’t know how to respond so he ends up making several false starts. “I… we… if… I…do you…”

“Stiles.” Derek gives one of his dramatic sighs. “Why are you here?”

That’s a question he can answer. “I wanted to warn you, about being a suspect, in case you didn’t get my message.”

“I got _a_ message… from _Scott._ But it was unnecessary. I’m aware I was caught on camera. It was actually in the local papers. Somehow I don’t think I’ve too much to worry about. Your own colleague didn’t recognize me this morning. So thank you for trying to warn me about… a non-existent danger. I’m sure you meant well.”

Stiles has started pacing, a habit his father took great pains to train out of him when he became a deputy. But here and now, seeing Derek, talking to him, Stiles feels like a hyperactive adolescent again. He stops with some effort. “If I come back tomorrow, will you still be here?”

“I live here. I’ve lived here for two years. Why would I be gone?”

This is _not_ how he imagined their first conversation to go. He thought they’d argue and then calm down and talk it out. Or maybe not calm down and have passionate sex instead while still half-angry. Or maybe they’d be all awkward like teenagers on a first date and then laugh about it. But this… _sniping… vicious_ sniping is too much. “Because you have a history of disappearing.”

For a while Derek says nothing, eyebrows raised sardonically, then he says acidly, “Yes, because my leaving was the problem.”

“No,” Stiles retorts far too loud and far too angry, when all he feels is _desperate_. “I was the problem. I know that. Don’t you think I know that? Do you think I haven’t regretted it ever since? I think about it all the fucking time.”

“You should get help for that. It’s been three years. Time to move on.”

 _Argghh! Derek’s still so infuriating!_ Stiles knows exactly what the solution to his problem looks like. It looks very much like the man standing over there with his arms crossed and that half-mocking expression on his face, all raised eyebrows and furrowed forehead. He longs for the time when he could expect a welcoming smile, open arms and permission to touch to his heart’s content. Of course, that was before he fucked it all up, quite literally. He’s always felt that maybe the reason he can’t move on is because it was all his own fucking fault.

“Can you just be careful, please?” he says in a shaky voice.

“Surprisingly enough I’ve managed to survive the past few years without your help.”

“I didn’t help because you _needed_ it. I helped because I _wanted_ to.” Stiles starts to scratch his head in a nervous gesture, then stops when he remembers that his hair is longer now. Being here brings out all the old habits in him like just rubbing over his hair when he feels stressed – and feeling out of his depth.

“Stiles,” Derek says with a sigh. “What do you want from me?”

“I want…” … _to stay here with you and never leave… I want you to love me… I want to no longer think about you all the time…_ “I wanted to warn you. And I want you to be safe. And I want you to still be here if I come by again.”

“Well, two out of three ain’t bad.”

Stiles waits for him to elaborate, to clarify which two, but Derek doesn’t. Of course he doesn't, he's Derek Hale. They exchange another one of their lingering looks that could mean anything, _everything_ – or nothing at all. “I’ll try and steer the FBI away from you.”

When Derek doesn’t answer, Stiles prompts, “It would be a lot easier if you could tell me who the real culprit is.”

“Another werewolf.”

Making another ‘duh’ face, Stiles says sarcastically, “That’s really illuminating. Thank you so much, Derek. I can really work with that.”

Derek takes a deep breath as if talking is a chore or physically painful. “She’s recently turned. She didn’t know. There’s no local pack. She won’t kill again.”

Stiles has so many questions but he doesn’t think Derek is up for answering any more of them. “The FBI won’t overlook four deaths, Derek. They’ll keep digging.”

“And they won’t find anything. I’ve got it under control.”

Stiles frowns because the victims of the last full moon might beg to differ.

“I didn’t know about her before. Now I do. I’ve got this.” It’s obvious that for Derek keeping this new werewolf from killing anyone else will put an end to the story.

Stiles isn’t so sure that it will be enough but as he’s working on the case he can try and bury any evidence that might put Derek in danger or expose the existence of werewolves. Great, his first case with the FBI and his success will be defined by _not_ finding the perp.

He knows immediately that Derek apparently considers the matter closed as far as he’s concerned – the matter being the case, this conversation and his patience in allowing Stiles in his space. He doesn’t even have to say anything. Stiles remembers this feeling of being dismissed very well, it’s like a sudden temperature drop or a vibe that Derek emits on some magical frequency. It changes the room’s atmosphere from _I’m-tolerating-you_ to _you-must-leave-right-fucking-now_ in a heartbeat. Derek Hale can still freeze molten lava with just one look.

Stiles shakes his head at the futility of it all, throws up his hands in defeat and leaves the house without much more than a goodbye. As he drives through the dark woods he’s livid, mainly with himself. Ten minutes in Derek’s company and he reacts exactly the way he always has: anticipating Derek’s moods and reacting zealously to the slightest fluctuation; because, naturally, Derek must never be called out on anything he does or say or more often than not _doesn’t_ say. His fragile emotions might be shattered by the slightest challenge.

 _What about my emotions? How many times do I have to shatter?_ He has a good mind to go back and have it out with Derek. It won’t do any good, of course, and he’s long ago forfeited all rights to confront Derek about anything but just for once he'd like a straight answer. _You can’t expect straight answers if you don’t ask straight questions, pal._ It’s maddening how everything always comes back to being his own damn fault. By the time he goes to bed his anger has been replaced by the familiar ache and he mainly wonders how long it will take this time until he sees Derek again. If he ever does.

 

 

 

 _It became a routine. Well, maybe not so much a_ routine _because each occasion was unique and exciting but it became something they_ did _. After they’d eliminated a threat by some masterful plan or sheer bloody violence, with adrenaline still running through their veins, they ended up in bed together. Then it was after pack meetings as well. Stiles would usually find a reason to stay when everyone went home. Eventually they gave up pretending and just fucked whenever they found themselves alone together._

_It wasn’t as frequent as Stiles would have liked but that it happened again – and again – was more than he’d hoped for after the first time. He got used to the silences. Derek still didn’t encourage him to stay afterwards but if Stiles did, it was tacitly tolerated. Then he went from letting Stiles sleep off his sex-induced stupor alone in the bed to allowing him to shower and have breakfast to spending the night by his side. Stiles suppressed an indulgent smile every time he noticed that the boundaries had shifted again._

_He didn’t push. If Derek was a little skittish with relationships, who could fault him for that? It wasn’t that Derek was bad with words – he had a degree in English after all and spoke several languages – nor was he shy about making his wishes or intentions known – Stiles blushed to the tips of his ears at the most inopportune moments when he thought about the things Derek had said to him during sex. Maybe he just didn’t like to talk about things like that or maybe he needed more time. Stiles was ready to give it to him, along with anything else he was willing to accept._

_It took months until they got caught for the first time. Still nothing had been said between them and no questions had been asked. But falling into bed together five minutes after Stiles stepped foot into the loft pretty much cemented their relationship in Stiles’s mind albeit unacknowledged. He didn’t need to parade it in front of people although with strangers, he sometimes referred to having a boyfriend as long as they didn’t know Derek and would never meet him. The slight feeling of guilt and shame that assailed him whenever he imagined that Derek might find out somehow was steadfastly ignored._

_One day Scott turned up at the loft on some emergency or something he considered as such while Stiles was showering off various smells and missed his entrance. The situation wasn’t even particularly conspicuous. Stiles showered in a lot of places, at home, at the gym, at the station, at Scott’s. However, there was something in the way he walked back into the main room still towel drying his hair that must have given away his familiarity with the situation. When he spotted Scott in conversation with a – thankfully completely dressed – Derek, his friend’s eyes widened in sudden understanding._

_Scott flushed a bright red. “Sorry, guys,” he said looking adorably flustered, “I didn’t… know.”_

_Derek shrugged. “Know what?”_

_Stiles had to admire his utter nonchalance while at the same time knowing it wouldn’t work. Now that he’d gotten the idea Scott wouldn’t let it rest, at least not with Stiles. It was all good though. Stiles had been waiting to tell him for ages anyway. His loyalties had been painfully divided between his desire to share this important part of his life with his best friend and his sympathy for Derek’s wish for privacy._

_“Uhm… nothing,” Scott said with a subdued grin._

_Oh, no, Scott was going to treat this as a teasing opportunity. Derek would never stand for that and it might put a sudden end to what he and Stiles were doing. Stiles needed to nip that idea in the bud immediately. “Quite!” he says decisively, giving Scott a warning look._

_Luckily Scott got the message the way they usually could communicate without words when the need arose. It lasted until their conversation was over and Scott reached his bike downstairs. Then Stiles’s phone blew up with so many messages that he decided to switch it off. Derek must have known what it was about but as usual he kept his own council. They carried on pretending nothing was happening._

_That night Stiles had his first real talk about his and Derek’s relationship with someone who knew both of them. Scott was by and large supportive. Stiles had never expected anything else. Naturally there was some disappointment on Scott’s part that Stiles hadn’t said anything sooner and Stiles had expected that, too._

_Nothing changed._

_The second time they were caught was by the sheriff, who came home unexpectedly during his shift while Derek and Stiles were in his bedroom. Luckily they were already finished and managed to be dressed by the time they had to face Stiles’s dad._

_Dad looked both of them up and down when they came downstairs and gave a curt greeting, if anything slightly less frosty to Derek than to Stiles. All three of them couldn’t leave the house quickly enough. It was almost comical, if Derek hadn’t been so relentlessly tight-lipped about it. Why could they not just laugh things off instead of making them awkward? They did with everything else._

_For all the next day Stiles thought he’d gotten away with it. On Sunday evening he was having dinner with his dad like he always did. It was a habit left over from his college years when Stiles would come home every weekend to check on his dad and the pack and they had a firm rule to share this last meal together before Stiles drove back for another week._

_“Do you think I’m homophobic?” Dad asked suddenly apropos of nothing._

_“What? No! Of course not.” Despite the usual youthful complaints that parents didn’t understand their kids ever, Stiles had always considered his father the most understanding, tolerant and accepting person he knew._

_“Then the reason you didn’t tell me about you and Derek wasn’t because you were worried how I’d react?”_

_“No, Dad! It isn’t about that.”_

_Dad’s unconvinced nod made Stiles spill everything there was to know about his relationship with Derek. He was twenty-two at the time, the age difference was no longer such a disparity and his dad knew Derek a lot better than merely from interrogating him as a suspect for various crimes, had even worked with him on occasion. And if Stiles made it sound like he and Derek made a joint decision about everything instead of just not talking, then it was more to reassure his father._

_Which naturally didn’t work._

_For a long while Dad just listened. Then he was quiet for even longer before he finally said: “Son_ _, I don’t want to interfere in your relationship. Nothing breaks parents and children faster apart than that. But if you can’t go public with it then you should ask yourself, why you don’t want to. And the same applies if he’s the one holding back. All I’m saying is it’s not healthy.”_

_And that was that. There were no more comments that night or at any other time. Dad didn’t threaten Derek with wolfsbane bullets or talked to him about Stiles at all. It seemed that nobody wanted to talk about it. Even Scott rarely spoke of it. Stiles didn’t mention his ‘boyfriend’ to anyone again, be it people he knew or complete strangers. And despite all that or maybe because of it he thought about Derek all the fucking time._

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

**3.**

 

In the last two weeks Stiles has spent more time in diners than in his previous twenty-six years combined. His new colleagues practically live in those places. They have breakfast, lunch and dinner there and also use them as an office. The local sheriff has made room for them but as he couldn’t offer more than an empty maintenance closet they just use it as storage space for paperwork and a fax machine. It’s not as if they’re unwelcome, but Sheriff Moreno only has one deputy with whom he’s already sharing an office and space is at a premium. Sabrina and Jared don’t seem to mind. As long as they can get their hands on any information they deem necessary, they’re happy to work on the go.

“We’ve had worse,” Jared says, moving his empty lunch plate to the next table so he can spread out the coroner’s reports. "At least Moreno doesn’t try to actively sabotage the FBI crackpots.” He reminds Stiles of Boyd with his quiet confidence and evident strength. He’s the type of person you want by your side in a fight. Strange how Stiles has never stopped assessing people by those criteria, how much benefit would they be against the supernatural, can they run, fight, think on their feet? He doesn’t mind people who’d be completely useless but it’s been the first thing he looks for when he meets a stranger since high school. Can this person fend for themselves or do they need protection when things go pear-shaped?

Sabrina is the complete opposite, older, portly, maternal-looking with an easy grin, an infectious laugh and an opinion on everything. Stiles suspects she’s fitter than she looks, but even if she’s not, she would be an asset by her sheer willpower and determination. She’s smart, too, has a phenomenal memory and can read people to a disconcerting degree. Even after the short time they’ve been working together, Stiles is quite comfortable with both of them.

“I still don’t get why there would be wolf’s hair in the wounds,” Sabrina wonders.

Although unsurprised – he’s excessively studied all reports by now – Stiles feels a hot spike of apprehension, which he tries to shrug away. “Maybe a wolf nibbled on the bodies before they were found?”

“Maybe. But it’s unlikely in Mr. Cutter’s case. Apart from the fact that there are no wolves in Virginia.”

“Werewolves,” Jared pipes up.

Stiles’s head shoots up at his laconic remark. Damn, he needs to work on not letting his mask slip but he hasn’t needed to hide things for so long, he’s gotten out of the habit.

Jared isn’t even looking up from the file and Sabrina just grins broadly. “Or aliens with wolf DNA.”

Stiles shares their good humor with a forced smile but his attention is distracted by one of the other patrons. Even just seeing him from the back Stiles recognizes Derek instantly as he makes his way to the counter to get a refill for the two mugs he’s holding. Is Derek… on a date? He and Derek never had one of those. You can’t go on a date if you’re not dating.

The waitress smiles flirtatiously at Derek which doesn’t surprise Stiles in the least. It’s how everyone reacts to him. She also knows without inquiry how not only he but also how his date takes their coffee. From where he’s sitting Stiles can’t see who Derek is with and he’s sorely tempted to get up and just walk past their table in a casual manner. Unfortunately the restroom is nowhere near that side of the diner – even if he could pull off casual under these circumstances, or any other.

It bugs him that he’s convinced Derek knows he’s here yet refuses to acknowledge him or even look in his direction. Derek’s always aware who else is in the room. However, Stiles has the upper hand here because if this day is going to pan out like any of the previous days, he’ll be spending another couple of hours here at least. At some point Derek and the other person will leave and Stiles can check out who he’s with.

Or not. Because three hours later when they’re packing up to leave, Derek and his companion are still happily ensconced in their booth and on their fourth coffee. Contrary to how he was in the past, Derek is talking a lot although most of it seems to be of a more serious nature than is customary on a date. As Stiles is trudging behind Jared and Sabrina towards the exit, he looks over but Derek isn’t paying him the slightest attention.  _Right, this is it!_

While Jared’s still holding the door for him, Stiles turns on his heels and marches over to where Derek’s sitting. At least he tries to because Derek is out of his seat and blocking his way when he’s still several feet away from where he could get a glimpse of the mysterious date. All he deduces is that it’s more likely a woman because not even the crown of their head shows over the top of the bench’s back. Somehow that makes it worse because how can he possibly compete with a woman if that’s what Derek wants?

“Anything I can do for you, Agent Stilinski?” Derek is occupying far more space than he should being no taller or broader than Stiles, but somehow he can still loom with the best of them.

“Why don’t you introduce me to your… friend?” Stiles asks icily. “What do you have to hide?”

“I’m not introducing you because it’s none of your business who I have lunch with.”

“Really? What are you ashamed of – me or her?” Is it possible that Derek is hiding the fact that he’s bisexual?  _And what if he is? He’s living in rural Virginia. It’s probably best to keep some things to himself. After all, that’s not even his biggest secret._

Derek looks at him as if he’s lost his mind, genuinely confused and at a loss for words.

And suddenly Stiles recognizes his own behavior for what it is and feels sick with embarrassment. He’s harassing his ex! He’s jealous and possessive after all this time. He’s pathetic, a cliché and a nuisance, maybe even a stalker. “I’m sorry.” He presses out the words from that place inside him that his parents managed to indelibly infuse with manners, without thinking or conviction, just as a means to allow him to flee the situation.

Sabrina and Jared are already in the car watching him almost run from the diner and climb in. “Don’t tell me he rejected you,” Sabrina says with a frown. “I could have sworn he was into you.”

“Just drive,” Stiles grumbles. He can’t get away from this humiliation fast enough. Luckily Jared complies without a word. Still, Stiles can’t resist looking back when they’re almost out of the parking lot. He can see Derek clearly, standing up at the counter, now paying the bill. His companion has joined him. It’s definitely a woman, small and slight, barely reaching his shoulder. Her hair is so light it seems white at the distance and made up in an old-fashioned bun. But at no point does she turn so he could have a look at her face. And neither does Derek.

 

   

_Lydia came back to Beacon Hills after three years at MIT. They hadn’t seen each other in person for nearly two years although they skyped all the time. Stiles had missed her – a lot. Apart from having become a friend she was also someone who'd managed to take the crush he had on her and made it work. She always assumed that his feelings didn’t change and didn’t shy away from talking about it. Somehow – over time – it had gone from I’m-way-out-of-your-league-buddy to your-crush-on-me-is-kinda-cute to a humorous hold-that-thought._

_The only reason Lydia didn’t raise his hopes up by slowly warming to him was Derek. In his own way Stiles never stopped loving Lydia. She was a goddess and always would be. It was impossible not to worship her. But it was also comfortable because she remained beyond his reach. That he could openly talk about his crush on her was part of the attraction, familiar and sentimental, the worst-kept secret ever and very nearly part of his personality. And any person who said they didn’t have at least a little crush on her was a lying liar who lied anyway._

_But Derek was the crush that became real, someone to spend time with, to touch, to kiss and obsess about. Their relationship involved friendship, common interests, support for each other’s plans and ideas, time spent just hanging out. It was only when the other side of their relationship came into play, when it was more than being friends that awkwardness set in. Not when they were together, those problems were in the past, but afterwards, when he was alone, any time he thought of Derek – which was practically all the time – he wondered what it all meant, if it meant anything at all and how long it could last._

_Ever since his dad had spoken to him months ago, Stiles had been perpetually on the verge of blurting out his feelings, to his friends, to the world in general and in particular to Derek. How long would he have to wait until Derek was ready to go define the relationship, go public, change his Facebook status or at least say something to Stiles about it, for fuck’s sake? But contrary to his live-long inclinations, he kept quiet, didn’t speak about it, didn’t complain, didn’t push. One thing he knew for sure: what he and Derek had was the epitome of fragile. He didn’t trust himself not to destroy what he valued most by giving in to his urge to solidify it with words._

_By contrast his relationship with Lydia felt stable and tangible. She blew into town like fresh air. It wasn’t entirely clear what she was even doing in Beacon Hills. Her mother had moved away eighteen months ago and after the two disastrous dates between his dad and her, Stiles was quietly pleased about that for his dad’s sake. With her father having left the picture after the divorce, Lydia had no real reason to be here. After all, she wasn’t the sentimental type._

_While he had planned to spend as much time with her as he could for as long as she was around, Stiles was surprised to find himself in her company almost constantly. For starters, she asked him if she could stay with him and his father and as they had a spare room, his dad readily agreed. Which meant they saw each other morning, noon and night. On top of that they went to the movies with Malia and Scott, had long afternoons in coffee shops and went to the mall several times to satisfy Lydia’s continuing love for shopping._

_On the first weekend they spent the afternoon in his room watching Youtube videos upside down, lying on his bed with their heads hanging over the side. Lydia’s hair was cascading onto the floor and spreading there like a fan. Over the past years it had darkened a little which only made it more beautiful and he had a sudden urge he hadn’t felt since high school._

_“I know this is probably weird but… can I touch your hair?”_

_Lydia looked towards him. “Sure.”_

_Accomplishing it was more awkward than anticipated and he had to turn all the way over onto his belly. Then he felt some strands between his finger tips and his thumb and it was just as soft as he’d always imagined._

_When he let go, she turned onto her side to face him. “You don’t have a significant other, do you?”_

_He mimicked her position, head propped on his hand. “What do you mean?” The question didn’t really have an answer._

_“Well, I’ve been here since Monday and you haven’t felt the need to be anywhere else nor are you glued to your phone performing some long-distance courtship rites. Ergo you’re single.”_

_He looked away, uncertain and annoyed that he couldn’t just say it. And why the hell not? So he held her gaze and said, “I’ve been having sex with Derek for the last year.”_

_Her eyes widened in surprise. “Derek Hale?”_

_“Do we know any other Derek? Yes, Derek Hale. It’s just… something we do. Friends with benefits, you know?” And there it was. For the first time he’d said it out loud: he and Derek were just fucking. They weren’t gradually building up to something permanent and deep. It was just physical. They were friends, yes, absolutely. And there were benefits but that was all it was and it was about time he admitted it. Saying it made it real._

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Quite.” It hurt to say it but it was only true and he would never lie to Lydia. There was no point anyway because she always knew._

_“So Derek won’t come after me with fangs and claws out to stake his claim if I asked you out on a date?”_

_“Not a chance.” At this point some rabid jealousy would be welcome, with or without claws and fangs._

_“Would_ you _come after me if I asked_ him _out?”_

_He shook his head. By now it was pretty much his fate to suffer from unrequited love._

_Her smile was sphinx-like as ever. “In that case my last question wasn’t hypothetical.”_

_“Okay… wait… what? You wanna ask Derek out?” For a moment his heart stopped. This was the worst possible scenario he could imagine. Lydia and Derek both in love with someone else that wasn’t him would have been bad enough. In love with each other? He would have to emigrate to the other side of the planet and become a hermit. Just imagining it made him want to vomit._

_“Not that question. The one before that.”_

_His mind was so foggy it took him a while to backtrack their conversation. His lips tried to form words without any success but he remained silent apart from the odd incoherent sound._

_“I’m asking you out on a date, doofus,” she clarified with that laugh that was like a pleasant chime. “Don’t tell me I’ve waited too long.”_

_“Are you serious?” He wished he could go back to tell his sixteen-year-old self that his ten-year plan would work out eventually and to just hang on._

_“Absolutely. Will you go to dinner with me tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven.”_

_He felt an irrepressible urge to snicker despite his somber mood. She always had a cheery effect on him. “Pick me up? You’re staying at my house.”_

_Lydia grinned. “I want to do it properly.”_

_“I feel honored.”_

_“You should.”_

_He did – he felt honored, happy, excited, overwhelmed. Lydia left the house an hour before their date, returned in a beautiful dress to pick him up, took him to the nicest restaurant in town and dropped him on his doorstep where she kissed him goodnight. Then she drove off and returned twenty minutes later in her casual clothes – which in her case still meant the height of fashion._

_“How was your date?” she asked after she let herself into the house with the spare key his dad had given her for the duration of her stay._

_Stiles laughed. He’d forgotten how easy relationships could be. “It was great. She kissed me.”_

_Lydia smirked. “Did she now? And how would you feel about more of that?”_

_"Also great.” It was the truth but there was something else nagging him. “But I feel I should speak to Derek first. It’s the right thing to do.”_

_“Absolutely.”_

_It took him three attempts to get to Derek’s loft the next day. The first time he was almost there when he caught sight of himself in the rearview mirror and decided that he needed his hair cut, so that had to be done first because appearance was important. Then he remembered that he still had to get groceries because he was going to make his dad’s favorite dinner at night during which he would tell him about the new development in his life. His father’s reaction was important to him so everything needed to be perfect and naturally the shopping took precedence just in case there was an unexpected food shortage or something…_

_Then he finally talked himself out of his procrastination. What was the big deal? He would tell Derek and Derek would shrug and that would be it. Nothing to worry about._

_The big deal turned out to be Derek’s smile which when directed at him always made Stiles’s heart pound ridiculously hard and fast. The big deal was how Derek walked towards him when he let himself into the loft, as if he’d been waiting or hoping for him to turn up. And the biggest deal was Derek slowly leaning in to his space and Stiles blurting out, “I went on a date with Lydia last night.”_

_Derek just froze in place about an inch away from Stiles’s face before he stepped back slowly. “What?” He looked confused, all endearingly crinkled forehead._

_Stiles instantly wished that he hadn’t said anything or said it a different way. But he’d panicked when he realized that Derek was about to kiss him. Granted Derek usually kissed him when they were alone and for the longest time Stiles had convinced himself that it was because they were in a relationship and not simply a prelude to sex. Little habits like that had kept him going for nearly twelve long months._

_Being with Lydia had reminded him that relationships were supposed to be fun. You should come away from a date feeling elated and not have to spend all your energy on convincing yourself that it was fine and going over every word and gesture, endlessly worrying what it had meant or if it had meant anything at all. He’d been doing that for far too long. He was tired of it._

_“Lydia asked me on a date. We went out last night. And we want to give it a go, you know? Have a proper relationship. But I wanted to tell you before it goes too far. That’s only fair after all this time. I’m thinking maybe I’m not cut out for this friends with benefits stuff. I’m so sorry.”_

_“Friends with benefits?” Derek’s eyebrows were nearly at his hairline and there really wasn’t any justice in the world because he still looked so, so beautiful. Then his face smoothed out to show no particular expression._

_“Yes, you know, you and me… with the nakedness and the sex… and the not telling anyone…”_

_Finally there was some emotion in Derek’s features but despite all his close attention to detail Stiles couldn't work out what it signified._

_“Well, not everyone likes… friends with benefits,” Derek said finally, his tone strangely upbeat._

_A slap in the face couldn’t have hurt any more than those serene words. “I want to be allowed to love someone,” Stiles said vehemently, his hands shaking with tension. “I don’t want to hide it. And I don’t want the other person to not love me back. I want to be loved back.” He bit down hard on that part of him that wanted to add: ‘by you’. He didn’t need to put up with half measures any longer. He had the real thing now and he’d waited a long time for it._

_By that point the atmosphere in the loft had dropped way past the point where Stiles could comfortably remain there much longer. Derek had shut down and dismissed him without a word. Sometimes Stiles could force his way through this feeling but today he didn’t feel up to it. Coming here had taken it out of him. If he was honest just lying in bed worrying about having to speak to Derek about this had nearly finished him. It was only the thought of why he was doing this that had pulled him through in the end._

_“Derek,” he said tentatively. This was going just as terribly as anticipated and he’d really been hoping that he and Derek could stay friends – just without the benefits. Surely Derek wouldn’t be too hard-pressed to find someone else for that. Best not to think about that too much._

_Unexpectedly Derek smiled, a soft, warm smile that up to now had always been one of the reasons Stiles had clung on to their relationship. Because it was genuine. Then Derek said, still with the same expression, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”_

_And Stiles just couldn’t deal with it right now. Anger and jealousy, even just curtness he could have accepted but this… this fond wish for his happiness? Who even did that? Not someone who cared and that hurt deeply. “Thanks,” he muttered. “See you later.”_

_When the loft door rolled shut he realized that he hadn’t even made it past the doorstep. The entire conversation that ended a whole year of intimacy between them had taken no more than a few minutes. And maybe that said it all about their so-called relationship._

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

**4.**

 

His heart’s beating in his throat as he watches Derek walk down the street, one arm cradling an overfilled grocery bag, the other holding his phone and typing one-handedly. For the longest time, right up until a few days ago, Stiles believed that the reason he’s never gotten over Derek was because he disappeared. All concerns about where Derek was and how he was doing aside, Stiles never had the chance to casually run into him at the store or to seek him out to clear the air. When you don’t get closure, the shadows of your memories follow you everywhere, dogging your every footstep.

Now he realizes what bullshit that is. Although he knows exactly where Derek is and seemingly bumps into him at every corner, he feels worse not better. It takes all his self-discipline not to jump up and run after Derek, just to keep him in sight for a few seconds longer than he can from his seat in the diner or maybe exchange a few words if he’s really lucky. He’s even jealous of whomever Derek is messaging.

“Did you see ‘em?” Sabrina asks.

For a moment Stiles thinks she’s talking about Derek, that she said _‘im_ instead of _‘em_. How could she not? Derek is the center of the world after all. Well, _Stiles’s_ world, at any rate.

Then Jared answers in his usual laconic style, not raising his head from his food. “I saw ‘em.”

Sabrina smiles at Stiles as pleasantly as if she’s commenting on the weather. “The couple three booths behind you. Plaid shirt on him, hunting vest on her. They’re on the watch list.”

He nods and stands up to get himself another coffee, carefully checking out the pair on the way back to his table. They’re sitting next to each other, devouring their breakfast with grim faces and no conversation. They’re both around forty, a little weather-worn from spending time in the great outdoors and Stiles’s mind would have made the leap even if he didn’t have a vague memory of the woman from his time as a deputy. They’re wearing hunting gear because they’re hunters, although not the kind Sabrina and Jared are familiar with.

He sits back down and waits a minute before he asks, “Why are they on the list?”

She shrugs. “Being part of a militia, connections to white supremacists, the usual this type of people hangs out with.”

“I didn’t know the FBI had them on watch.”

“Yeah, that’s _all_ the FBI does, _watch_ ,” Jared says with obvious disdain. “We wait till they slaughter a bunch of people or commit mass suicide before we do anything. This country’s going to shit.”

“Now, now,” Sabrina says in a mother-knows-best tone. “None of that. This country’s _always_ been shit. It just used have better control on its PR. All hail the internet.”

Stiles and Jared snort in unison.

“So what are we going to do?” Stiles asks. One thing _he_ will do at his earliest opportunity will be to inform Derek of this development and ask him to run. Which Derek will ignore, of course, and then Stiles will be worried sick and feel the need to keep an eye on him.

“Well, conveniently there were four murders in the area, so I dare say that warrants us taking a closer look at suspicious individuals. Since we don’t have any other leads.”

Stiles grins. He really loves his new colleagues. 

 

 

There's a sudden flurry of activity in the air. After spending lazy days on their almost cold quadruple murder, mainly by going around and asking questions or sitting around and talking about it, there are some very welcome _let’s-follow-this-person_ days. Jared borrows a car from his cousin and Stiles is allowed to use his Jeep as a work vehicle to keep an eye on the influx of people into the small town. Even Sabrina and Jared have no problem identifying hunters on sight. They all have a certain quality about them, dubbed ‘evil aura’ by Jared. Stiles thinks he’s not far off there.

It’s not hard to find the hunters. They’re staying in small groups in different motels. About four of them drive out to a remote farm and don’t return. Unsurprisingly the owner of that farm also turns out to be on the watch list. All in all they end up with about a dozen people they’re trying to watch.

On the other hand, one person who is _very_ hard to find is Mr. Derek Hale. Stiles goes to his house on the night after he first sees the hunters but it’s dark and locked up. An early morning visit the next day yields the same result. When he finds the situation unchanged that night as well, he calls Scott and asks for Derek’s phone number. He explains carefully that he just wants to warn him about the hunters in town, nothing else and he’s already seen Derek and he’s totally fine and dandy, perfect, nothing to worry about. Scott won’t budge regardless. He assures Stiles that he’ll get a message to Derek and changes the subject. Stiles wants to brain his best friend and hug him at the same time.

 

 

It’s not difficult for Stiles to work out that the hunters are here for Derek. Some years ago Chris Argent put out a protection notice on Derek, which means that he’s off limits to all hunters – at least those who follow the code. Maybe that’s the reason Derek’s still alive or maybe he’s just very good at staying under the radar. However, Stiles is pretty sure the protection only applies to Beacon Hills since the influence of the Argents isn’t unlimited despite their fame and status and also none of these guys looks like the nice, code-abiding hunter type.

There’s a strange atmosphere in town that even the locals comment on, their waitress during breakfast, the sheriff and his deputy when they check in with them. Apparently there’s something ‘hinky’ going on. The hunters don’t constitute a large enough group to make a real difference to the overall fabric of the place but they just ooze menace.

Some of them are watching Derek’s house, which would explain why he’s not there any longer. Others are spending their time in diners, bars and even on street corners, apparently in aimless leisure but clearly observing their surroundings very carefully. Stiles wonders if Derek’s already left town and he’ll have to wait another few years until he sees him again.

It’s pure luck that he finds him three days later. He sees Derek’s companion from the diner whilst he’s paying for his gas. She’s on the other side of the road and he only sees her from the back again, but she’s wearing almost exactly the same clothes and her hair is done in the same old-fashioned style.

He asks the attendant if he knows who she is, pushing a twenty across the counter at the same time. The guy glances out the window. “That’s Julie. Julie Goddard. She’s lived here all her life.” There’s a heavy implication of _what could you possibly want from her?_ which Stiles ignores.

Giving a short thanks, he dashes outside and leaves his Jeep at the pump as he runs to the corner of the street she disappeared into. He can see her about halfway down and she must hear him coming because she halts and then slowly turns to face him.

And Stiles comes to an ungraceful skidding stop about five yards from her, cartwheeling to stay upright when he gets a good look at her. Her hair is not _almost_ white it _is_ white and the old-fashioned hairdo was probably very fashionable when she was young because she is way older than his own father.

There’s no fear or worry in her expression. She smiles mildly and asks, “Something I can do for you, young man?”

For a few moments he’s at a loss for words. His expectations and reality have not the slightest overlap. The only way he could have been more surprised is if she'd turned out to be male. It’s like that old movie _Don’t Look Now_ when the figure in the red hood turns around to Donald Sutherland. “I’m looking for Derek,” he finally blurts out. “It’s important.” After a pause he adds, “I’m Stiles.”

“I see,” she says, her smile never wavering. “Then why don’t you go and get your car and meet me at my house?” She turns slightly and points to a house a little further along. “It’s the one with the windmill in the garden. I’ll make us some tea.”

He hesitates but now that he has her name he doesn’t think giving him a false address will hide her for long so he hurries back to his car and drives it over, parking further down the road so as not to advertise whom he’s visiting. Although he’s pretty sure he’s not being followed.

The door to the house is open and he closes it after he lets himself in. Then he follows the clinking noises of cups and spoons into the kitchen. True to her word Julie has made some tea leaving him to wonder how she managed to boil the water in the short time he took to get here, never mind let the tea steep. She places the pot on the kitchen table and sets out cups for two as well as some cake that looks home baked.

“I’ll let you two talk,” she says and walks to the door where she meets Derek who’s appeared in his usual noiseless approach. She wordlessly pats his chest a few times then moves along into another room, possibly to knit or polish her cat ornaments.

Stiles doesn’t care. Derek’s here now and nothing else is important. He can’t even look away from him. Derek on the other hand barely spares him a glance. He comes fully into the kitchen and puts on the coffeemaker before he sits down opposite Stiles and cuts the cake into thick slices. He dishes out one of them and pours a cup of tea that he then takes into the other room. Stiles can hear a murmured conversation.

The coffee is finished by the time Derek returns and he pours for Stiles and gets himself another cup out of the cupboard that he fills with tea. Stiles has never liked tea and he’s pleased by the fact that Derek remembers that. A fond smile spreads on his face. Derek’s actions always spoke louder than his words.

Derek picks up a slice of cake, says, “You wanted to talk to me, so talk,” and takes a big bite.

“There are hunters in town, a lot of them.” Stiles keeps his voice down because he’s aware of Julie in the other room and he didn’t hear Derek shutting any of the doors in between.

Looking unsurprised Derek finishes his mouthful slowly. “Why are you whispering?”

Stiles makes a vague gesture towards the door, indicating wherever Julie has gone. Derek frowns, looking bemused and suddenly Stiles feels very much like the first-grade idiot that he is. An embarrassed blush creeps into his cheeks. “Whispering’s pointless,” he sighs. _Of course_ he would make an ass of himself in front of Derek! “Because Julie is the new werewolf you talked about and can hear me anyway. And even if she couldn’t or wouldn’t, she should know anyway.” Jeez, why did it take him so long to put it together? _Because your feelings for Derek will always cloud your judgment. You were jealous, pure and simple._

At least it excuses the fact that he assumed her to be much younger. Being a werewolf has given her extra strength and vitality. She simply doesn’t move like someone her age normally does so only seeing her from behind he came to the wrong conclusion. In fact he’s instantly fascinated because he’s never seen a truly old werewolf before. Deucalion was probably the oldest he’s encountered.

“Did the bite make her younger? I mean physically? Is her body regenerating? Is she no longer tired and has aches and pains? How old is she?”

For a moment Derek just stares at him as if he seriously doubts his sanity. Then the corners of his mouth twitch as he tries in vain to suppress a smile. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

Stiles grins. “Of course not. Admit it, you missed my witty repartee.” He’s by no means certain that Derek meant it in a positive way but he’s always used projected self-confidence and semi-flirting as a defense mechanism.

“I value my peace and quiet,” Derek says, not quite serious yet.

“Pah,” Stiles snorts. “Peace and quiet is totally overrated. You need uproar and noise in your life.”

“If you say so.”

Derek seems amused rather than annoyed and Stiles wracks his brain to find something to say that will keep it that way. But all he comes up with are declarations of love and how much he missed Derek and apologies for what he did. The easy banter they used to have isn’t something he can pull off when he feels he doesn’t deserve it. It was special. And he destroyed it.

“You should leave,” he says instead. “These guys mean business and there’s a lot of them. They’re not here on vacation. Why are you still here? If you know about the hunters, why haven’t you run? You’re such a stubborn, obstinate, obdurate, pig-headed…”

“Julie doesn’t want to leave,” Derek interrupts. “She grew up in this town. She’s got nowhere to go. All her friends and family are here.”

“Then you go on your own. She’s not your responsibility. You didn't bite her. And she’s old enough to make her own decisions.”

“So you’d have wanted me to leave Scott and run when the Argents turned up after he was newly bitten?”

“No, of course not,” Stiles almost whines. He hates it when Derek wins their arguments. “But…” _I didn’t love you then!_ “Alright, you want me to have a go at persuading her?”

Derek takes another big bite of his cake and makes a _be-my-guest_ gesture with his hands.

Julie doesn’t have cat ornaments. She’s a retired school teacher turned IT consultant and her living room is full of computers she’s taken in for repair. Her intelligence shines through in every word and even in her gaze which is clear and open. Unfortunately that makes it harder to get through to her not easier. She’s been rational all her life. Having been turned into a werewolf is already way outside the realms of what she thought to be possible. Hunters are a step too far. The notion that there are people who would hunt and kill her, right here in her hometown, where everyone knows her, where the sheriff is her nephew, just doesn’t sink in.

Stiles tries for two solid hours with increasingly graphic descriptions of what hunters are capable of. At first he doesn’t want to shock or frighten her too badly but it soon becomes apparent that if he only _could_ do one or the other, he might get somewhere. Unfortunately he doesn’t manage either. Julie remains singularly unimpressed by even Gerard’s most evil deeds.

All through the conversation Derek stands in the doorway, his arms crossed and nodding sagely whenever she looks at him for confirmation. But he doesn’t utter a single word. Maybe he already tried all these arguments and gruesome anecdotes to no avail.

Eventually Stiles just throws up his arms in defeat. “I just don’t know how to protect you.” His voice is whiny even to his own ears. He’s frustrated that he’s helpless to do anything. What’s the point of being in the FBI if he still can’t keep people safe?

“It’s not your job to protect me,” Julie says mildly.

Derek speaks for the first time. “Actually, it literally is.”

She sighs dramatically. “Ah yes, you’re with the FBI. Policemen really do get younger and younger.”

Stiles can’t help but roll his eyes. He’s heard that one before. Many times. Although sometimes it’s an advantage to look younger than you are. It throws people off and makes them underestimate you. “How did you even become a werewolf?”

Julie recounts happily how she came across a heavily injured man while hiking and when she tried to help him, he bit her. In defending herself she accidentally killed the man.

Stiles looks at Derek dubiously. This little old lady killed a werewolf? Highly unlikely.

Shrugging Derek supplies, “He must have been close to death at that point. Julie probably didn’t really _kill_ him as such. He probably died because he was too badly injured. She said there’s some black ooze, so I’m thinking wolfsbane poisoning. It just coincided with her hitting him with a log.”

Yeah, that makes much more sense. Stiles is turning back to Julie when Derek adds, “The guy must have been an alpha though because she’s one.”

“What?”

There’s glee on Julie’s face when she flashes her eyes red. Stiles has always imagined he would feel the same smug sense of superiority if he was ever turned into a werewolf.

After a moment she becomes serious. “I didn’t know what was happening to me at the full moon. I just went crazy.”

“It’s not your fault,” Derek says soothingly. “Being an alpha is harder to control and it’s hard enough the first time for betas and omegas.”

Stiles has long ago decided that it was just sheer dumb luck that Scott didn’t kill anyone after he was first bitten. So he’s not going to hold Julie to account either. How could he anyway? How would he ever explain how this little slip of a person killed four grown men, none of them lacking stature? What he does instead is try one more time to persuade her to leave town, with as much or rather as little, success as before.

Eventually he gives up and gets ready to leave. Already he has two messages from Sabrina asking him where he is and what he’s doing.

Derek walks him to the front door like he did so many times in the past. Stiles wonders if this cessation of hostilities means he can try for more, like inviting Derek for a coffee or something. But it just seems silly to even ask the question. Or even worse: pushy. His dad told him to let Derek decide how he wants to deal with Stiles.

“So is she your alpha now?” he asks because Derek, despite having achieved the full shift, is still a beta, one without a pack no less, so really an omega.

The shake of Derek’s head is solemn. “I could never have an alpha that isn’t family.”

Stiles has no answer to that. It’s not as if he didn’t suspect all along that this was the reason Derek never joined Scott’s pack but somehow managed to overlook Peter killing Laura.

But there’s one thing Stiles can’t keep quiet about. “Why are you never afraid for yourself?” he asks, turning around suddenly and finding himself in Derek’s personal space.

All Derek has to do is lean forward a couple of inches and rasp in his ear, “Are you worried about me, Stiles?”

There’s something in the way he says his name that takes Stiles back to their time together as if no time has passed. His heart speeds up and there’s a sharp spike of arousal that’s half pleasurable and half pure embarrassment because he fucking well knows that Derek can sense it maybe even intended it. “Of course, I’m worried about you,” he blurts out angrily. “Because you’re too stupid or too stubborn or too, too, too… uncaring to be afraid.”

The wan smile remains on Derek’s face as he takes a step back. “Stiles,” he says in a tone that makes Stiles feel like a particularly slow child. “I’ve never stopped being afraid since the day my family died.” Then he gently shuts the door in Stiles’s face.

 

 

 

 

_It took Stiles no more than three days to recognize that being with someone who loved you cheerfully and openly wasn’t what he was looking for after all. They had a lot of fun. The sex was great. Lydia was as smart and funny and gorgeous as ever. He liked Lydia. He loved Lydia. But he was not in love with her any longer and however hard he tried to catch that elusive lost emotion, it escaped him persistently._

_“You lied to me,” Lydia said one morning._

_It was still early and his brain wasn’t quite functioning yet but rapidly getting there when he realized that she was already out of bed and dressed. His first thought was that he must have talked in his sleep and given the dreams he’d been having, involving Derek and very little clothing, it was probably not something you’d want to hear from the guy you started a relationship with mere days before._

_“What about?”_

_“Derek, I suspect.”_

_So he hadn’t said the wrong name in his sleep or she would have had no doubt. Still, Stiles couldn’t defend himself. He didn’t have it in him to lie to Lydia. It seemed like the only person he could lie to nowadays was himself. “I’m sorry,” he said and sincerely was. “I didn’t know. How did_ you _know?”_

_“I’ve been worshipped by dozens of men, including you. I know how it feels when someone is genuine. You put on a good show but still… no cigar. Why didn’t you just stay with him?”_

_“You know what he said to me when I told him about us?”_

_Lydia got up from the chair. “No, I don’t.” She looked down on him, making him feel very small and vulnerable as he was still in his bed._

_“He said, I hope you find what you’re looking for.”_

_She stared at him for a few moments, then swung around, her hair flicking in that amazing swoosh only she could pull off with style. “The audacity!” Then she swept out of the room._

_It took him far too long to work out that Lydia wasn’t just dressed but also packed up and ready to leave. By the time he’d struggled into his pants after he heard the front door and rushed out into the street, he only saw the rear lights of her rental car disappearing around the corner at the bottom of the street._

_He didn’t see Lydia for two years after that._

_Stiles knew that he’d fucked up his life with a vengeance. Any attempt to contact Lydia remained unanswered. He didn’t know it yet but it would stay like that for months until she finally thawed and deigned to speak to him. It would take even longer until her resentment and his guilt dissolved to a level that allowed them to meet in person and salvage a modicum of their friendship._

_But that wasn’t the worst of it. When he eventually gathered the nerve to go and see Derek, he was nowhere to be found. The locks had been changed and the only person with a working key was Kira of all people. Apparently Derek had left the same day that he and Stiles had their last conversation._

_Not only did it take Stiles days to find out this simple piece of information but he then spent days and days trying to come up with a reason. Why Kira? Why not Scott? Or Peter? Or even Malia? Eventually he decided that it was precisely because Kira wasn’t as close to the pack as the others were. She had no opportunity and saw no reason to tell Stiles or anyone else until they thought to ask her. Apparently Derek had come by and said he had some business to attend to, left her a key, which was strange because she’d never had one before, took her to dinner and left._

_Neither Kira nor anyone else for that matter knew what ‘business’ needed his attention or where he would perform this urgent transaction. Stiles just couldn’t let it rest. He was worried, yes. He also wanted to speak to Derek, to explain, maybe try and mend things. So he did research and short of putting out a bogus APB on Derek he blatantly abused his position as a police officer to try and find him._ _Most wanted people got caught because they returned to the familiar, the scene of the crime, their family and friends, their childhood neighborhood. Of course, Derek did none of those things and as he wasn’t a wanted man as such, he managed to thoroughly disappear._

_Stiles became obsessed. He pored over crime reports from in and out of state, became glued to his laptop and the incident board in his room when he wasn’t on duty. And he talked endlessly about the why and what and how with anyone who would listen. The only result was that people started avoiding him. Derek stayed gone without a trace._

_One day he came home after a double shift and the board in his room was gone. “Where’s my stuff?” he asked his dad, who was sitting at his desk. Then he noticed Scott hovering awkwardly in the corner by his bed. “What is this?” He was very tired and he still needed to sift through the usual websites before he could go to bed._

_“Your stuff’s in a box in the attic,” Dad said calmly. “And this is an intervention.”_

_“Yeah, that’s not gonna work.” Stiles stomped angrily towards the hatch for the attic but Scott was blocking his way before he could get there._

_“You will listen to us,” he said. “Or so help me god I’ll hold you down until you do.”_

_“So much for being my best friend,” Stiles spat out but trudged back into his room and flung himself on his bed like a sulky teenager. “Looks like I don’t get a say. So intervene away.”_

_“We’re only trying to help,” Scott said unhappily. No doubt he was already regretting his threat._

_His father was a lot less concerned with Stiles’s displeasure. “Actually, son, we’re way past trying to help you. We’ve been doing that for months and months. Now we’re just telling you a few home truths. Number one: you’re just one step removed from losing your job.”_

_Stiles laughed unconcernedly. “You’re my boss.”_

_“Yes, and I_ will _reprimand you if I either notice or one of the other deputies tells me that you’ve been using your time on duty or any station resources to look for Derek. You’re not to go to the station when you’re not on duty nor access the computer there. If the reprimand – which will go on your permanent record, by the way – doesn’t stop you, I_ will _suspend you pending an enquiry which will mean the end of your career.”_

_Stiles couldn’t believe it. His own father was betraying him. “What happened to three strikes?”_

_“I think we can safely assume we’re nearing the three hundred mark. I’ve warned you before, Stiles, many times, and this is the end of the line.”_

_“I’m not doing any harm!”_

_“What you’re doing is illegal. You’re in law enforcement. You’re endangering your job and mine. And you’re doing yourself harm.”_

_Stiles knew his father was serious. There was a fine line that he’d never crossed before because he’d always known his dad wouldn’t stand for it. Apparently they’d reached it. No problem. Stiles would just search in his spare time. Not as effective but also not illegal. He didn’t need anyone’s help. No one understood him anyway._

_“Number two.” Dad paused and sighed, continuing in a softer voice. “You’ve been searching for Derek for nearly a year now. Why don’t you just leave it alone? He obviously doesn’t want to be found.”_

_Abruptly Stiles sat up. “You don’t know that! You can’t know that! What if he’s in trouble? He’s always in trouble. What if he’s waiting somewhere hoping we’ll come and rescue him? I can’t just give up on him.”_

_“I told you he was in touch with Peter last week,” Scott says wearily._

_“Yeah, by text! Anyone could have written that to throw us off the trail.”_

_“There is no trail!” Dad said a little too loudly. “There isn’t a trail because he doesn’t want to be found! He left for good. He’s not coming back because he doesn’t want to.”_

_“He wouldn’t do that!”_

_“And why not? This is a place of nightmares for him. He lost his family here. He had four disastrous relationships here, all of them incredibly painful in their own way. Why in holy hell would he ever want to come back here?”_

_Stiles was sitting up now, ready to argue, ready to punch something if he was honest. Then his dad’s words sank in. “Four?”_

_Dad nodded and sighed again. “You broke his heart, Stiles. I’m sorry that you’re hurting, I really am. I love you and I know you just made a mistake. But you have to stop pretending that this is something it isn’t. You’re not the hero who’ll save Derek, so that everything can go back to how it was. You’re actually more like the baddie who did the damage. Let Derek deal with it the way he chooses. I know you’re sorry and I know you have a good heart but this is no longer in your hands, son. If he decides to come back then you can try and fix this but if he doesn’t, you have no right to decide that he should let you try.”_

_Why was Stiles always wrong about everything, about Derek, about Lydia, even about himself? As much as he hated hearing the words he knew he’d needed them. He needed people to stop tiptoeing around him and allowing him his self-deception. It hurt. It hurt like hell. But it was necessary. Dad got up, silently patted his shoulder on the way out and shut the door._

_Scott stayed and held Stiles while he cried on and off for over an hour. Then Stiles decided that the only way to beat this obsession was to go cold turkey. He could do it with Scott’s help. “Don’t let me talk about him anymore. Don’t tell me any news if you get any. Don’t let me be this pathetic anymore. I’m going crazy.”_

_“Okay.” Scott squeezed him a little harder. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”_

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**5**

When Stiles gets back to the motel that night, he feels exhausted. Together with Sabrina and Jared he’s mapped out the movements of the hunters they’ve identified and walked a perpetual tightrope between trying to make his colleagues as worried about and frightened of them as he is, while not giving the game away concerning the supernatural.

However, what has really drained him was his encounter with Derek. Ever since Derek shut the door on him this morning, Stiles can’t think of anything else. Was Derek flirting with him? Was he being mean because he knows how Stiles feels about him and nothing’s more humiliating then having those feelings exposed and mocked? Were his smiles genuine? Was the encounter really a thawing in their relationship or is that wishful thinking? Did Stiles make a complete ass of himself as usual? Is Derek thinking about Stiles as much as Stiles is about him? Is this as bad as it was three years ago or can Stiles handle this?

He drops his keys and wallet on the dresser and wonders if he should order some food. He’s hungry but he doesn’t feel like eating by himself. Is there anything more depressing than eating alone in a cheap motel room? What would happen if he went back to Julie Goddard’s house and asked Derek to go for a meal with him? It’s incredibly tempting. But the idea that Derek might just tell him no and leave him on the doorstep again paralyzes him with indecision.

Derek said he’s always been afraid, ever since Kate burned down his home. How heart-breaking is that? How can Stiles not want to wrap him up in cotton wool and protect him from the world? Why the fuck is he not _allowed_ to protect him? He just wants to make him feel safe and loved and happy. Is that so terrible? Maybe wanting to do it is not, but forcing it on Derek is, so he’ll just stay here and eat alone and ignore how it makes him feel.

After scrolling through his phone for choices, he decides to go to the diner adjacent to the motel for convenience’s sake. Just as he’s throwing on his jacket, there’s a knock on the door. His first thought is Derek. The immediate thought _anytime_ he has a visitor or the phone rings has been _Derek!_ for three years and beyond. Over time he’s trained himself not to be disappointed when it inevitably turns out to be someone else. It’s just that now he knows that Derek’s close by and it’s no longer improbable that it’s him…

However, when he opens the door he has to do a double take. _“Dad?”_

“Hey, kiddo, I had a few days leave due so I thought I’ll see how far my son’s gotten with his career at the FBI. You running the show yet? I realize you’re working here so I’ll entertain myself while you’re on…” Dad grunts loudly as Stiles hugs him close and squeezes as tight as he can. “…duty… hey, son, it’s good to see you.”

“You, too! Thank you. Thank you, Dad. I love you.”

“Love you, too. If you let go, I can pick up my bag and the pizza I bought.” However, Dad doesn’t release him despite his words, not until Stiles has himself under control and is no longer in danger of bursting into tears of gratitude and love.

After they devoured the pizza and Stiles has listened eagerly to all the news from Beacon Hills, Dad brings out a bottle of whisky which they pour into Stiles’s Batman mug and a cup that’s normally used for tooth brushing.

Stiles looks into the brown liquid for a while then grins widely. “Is this the point where you try and get me drunk so you can tell me that you and Melissa finally got together? Or you and some other lady? Or guy, of course.”

“Drink up, son.”

Following his instructions Stiles shudders a little as the alcohol burns its way down his throat. Whisky is really not his favorite tipple. In fact he doesn’t really drink much at all and the effect is almost immediate.

“First of all,” Dad says as he refills Stiles’s mug. “Melissa and I aren’t teenagers. We’re perfectly capable of having a deep and meaningful relationship without _getting together_.” He actually uses air quotes. It’s such a dad thing to do it makes Stiles chuckle. “Secondly I think you should be a little impaired when I ask you this…”

“Ask me what?”

“How’s Derek?”

Luckily Stiles has already finished his second gulp of whisky so he doesn’t choke. The question comes totally out of the blue. He hasn’t spoken about Derek to anyone for such a long time that he unexpectedly finds he might like to keep it that way. It’s always easier when he doesn’t have to be defensive about his emotions. “He’s good. Being chased by hunters as usual.”

“Here, have another one,” Dad says, dispensing another drink.

Being just pleasantly warm and nowhere near drunk, it doesn’t escape Stiles’s notice that Dad hasn’t taken a single sip yet. He resolutely puts his mug down on the night table. If Dad wants to sound him out, he should be sober for that. “Why are you asking?”

“Because you haven’t seen Derek for three years and you were pretty cut up about him leaving. So I suppose what I’m _really_ asking is: how are _you?_ ”

And suddenly – irrationally – Stiles feels angry about everything in his life that’s gone disastrously wrong, about the time he had to spend with no one to talk to, about the fact that his dad always wants him to talk when he's not really prepared. “You wanna know how I am? My life’s _fucked_. It has been since the day I met Derek. I spent _years_ to get over him and I would like to say I _was_ over him and meeting him again just brought it all back but you know what? That would be a complete and utter lie. I was _never_ over him. Not for a _single second_. I’ve thought about him _every fucking day_. I’ve missed him _every fucking minute_. I’m just as obsessed and crazy as I ever was. It never _changed_ , never got better or easier, it’s just always fucking _there_. No matter where I go, he always catches up with me.” He takes a breath then adds, “Sorry for cussing.”

Dad nods sagely. “Yes, because your word choice is what concerns me most about what you just said.” Despite the obvious sarcasm in his voice his love comes through loud and clear. Then he smiles wanly. “Stiles, if I could do for you what you did for me when your mother died, believe me, I’d have done it ten times over, gladly. But loving a dead person is very different from loving someone who left. It took me nearly a decade to find some sort of equilibrium. And to be honest I haven’t stopped missing her to this day. Just like you haven’t.”

Stiles’s anger crumbles at the look on his father’s face. He knows Dad still loves Mom and always will. They were meant for each other. Like he and Derek were meant for each other. “I know,” he says in a breaking voice. Everything hurts again.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t realize you feel the same way about Derek. I thought he was a crush or an obsession, like Lydia. Maybe I only now fully understand how much you love him. I should have been there for you instead of expecting you to get over it eventually.”

“I don’t know how to do that, Dad. I’ve tried.”

“I know.” Dad’s arm folds around his shoulders and Stiles leans into the touch. It’s always so comforting to feel the cloak of his father’s care settle on him and make him feel safe, no matter how bad things are. It’s been his foremost solace since the day Dad put his hand on his shoulder during his mother’s funeral and told him _I’m still here_.

 

 

The next day starts with a thumping headache. It’s worth it though, for the hours he and his father spent talking while splitting a bottle of whisky between them. It was good to finally talk about Derek without feeling that he’s somehow deficient for not being able to conquer his emotions. His dad’s admission that after over a decade he’s gotten only marginally further in his quest to ‘move on’ than Stiles has after three years was heart-breaking and soothing at the same time. His parents have always been the best, each in their own way.

Sabrina comes to pick him up from the motel because he wants to leave the Jeep for his father to use. As they’re walking towards the diner where Jared’s waiting, Stiles spots Derek a little down the road and what is more, Derek spots him, too, because he looks over. When he doesn’t look away, Stiles tells Sabrina he’ll catch up in a minute, ignores her cheery, _Go get’im, Tiger,_ and jogs the twenty or so yards over to Derek.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he beams. It’s always so good to see Derek. His blood flows faster and he feels more alive. Of course, his pounding heart makes his throbbing headache worse but that’s totally worth it, too.

“Yes, because I’m known for my sunny disposition.” Derek voice is sardonic but his smile looks genuinely amused.

There’s an acute danger of Stiles melting into a gooey puddle just from that smile alone. It’s so familiar, so beautiful and moving. “Must be the company you keep.”

“Hhm, well, Julie is certainly good-natured.”

“Haha, you know I bring good cheer wherever I go. You’re no exception. So it’s definitely all down to me.”

There’s that head tilt-and-dip that Derek does and that Stiles loves so, so much. How can he be expected to get over someone as perfect as Derek Hale? But after last night he’s not sure he wants to get over him. Maybe it’s a Stilinski family trait to fall so deeply in love it’s forever. That means he’ll never find anyone he’ll love like Derek anyway. In that case he’s destined to be alone for the rest of his life. He may find someone one day whose company he’ll love and appreciate but it won’t ever be quite like this. If that’s true he’s in good company. And just like his parents he chose someone utterly worthy of his love.

“Why are you grinning like a loon?” Derek asks suspiciously.

Stiles scoffs. “I’m not grinning. I’m smiling fondly at you. All in the spirit of our longstanding relationship, of course. What can I say, I’m a nostalgic person.”

Derek holds his gaze, his smile barely there and that used to be enough to make Stiles want to step into his space and initiate some intimacy. Ah, who is he kidding? It was mostly sex of any variety from the filthy to the downright tender. It was them, their way of communicating, reassuring and affirming. Why did he ever think he needed more?

But just like then he hesitates to make a move forward. What if Derek doesn’t want to? What if he humiliates him as well as rejects him? Stiles thinks he’s come a long way but he doesn’t know if his fragile ego can take it. Well, here’s a novel idea! Why not simply ask? Just be honest. _Can I kiss you?_ No, that’s too forward and out of the blue. _I’m confused. I don’t know if I’m reading your signs wrong. I would like to kiss you and I think you’d like that, too, but I’m not sure._ Yeah, that sounds reasonable.

But just as he takes a tiny step and starts with, “I’m confused by…” Derek jerks back violently. For a moment Stiles’s heart contracts painfully. Yeah, that’s exactly what he was afraid of. Then he finally takes notice of the dark van that so far he’s only registered out of the corner of his eye and with some distracted part of his mind. The vehicle’s pulled up beside them and there’s that ominous noise of the side door being forcefully pulled open not two feet away from them. Derek gives Stiles a shove away from it and turns to face the four people spilling out but it’s not enough to push Stiles out of the danger zone.

Paradoxically the crackling of the Tazer comes a second or so after the pain sets in. All his nerve endings are on fire at once. His muscles go rigid, then start shaking uncontrollably and he thinks, _holy shit, that hurts,_ and feels livid because he knows that various hunters have put Derek through this numerous times. How dare they!

From the moment he gets hit until he lands on the sidewalk several things happen at once but he’s hyperaware of each of them while seemingly watching the scene from a detached position. Derek manages to pull the first electrodes from his body. _How does he do that? It must be sheer willpower because his supernatural strength won’t help him against electricity._ The second and third prove too much for him though and he goes down next to Stiles, spasms shuddering through him. There are shouts of, _Stop! FBI! Stop or we’ll fire,_ and in the next second there’s the sound of a semi-automatic gun. That’s definitely not coming from either Sabrina or Jared. He thinks, _Well, my dear hunter dudes, you’ve done it now! You’ve shot at the FBI. Good luck, trying to get out of that one. You’re so gonna get it!_

Three of the guys pick up Derek and drag him into the van and Stiles’s mind returns to more appropriate thoughts of, _Don’t hurt him, you fuckers! I swear I’ll hunt you down_ , and, _Oh god, I don’t want to die. And I want Derek to die even less!_ Then two of the men return to pick him up as well and manage to throw him onto the floor of the vehicle with such force that he finally – almost gratefully – passes out.

 

 

Waking up should be accompanied by a worse headache than he had in the morning because of the bang on the head that was added to his hangover, but there’s nothing. He can feel his ass being cold and wet but he’s leaning against a familiar chest, embraced by strong arms and all is well in his world.

“Did you leach my headache away?” He’s still a little groggy, settling back to try and get more comfortable. They’re in a dark, musty-smelling place with a floor made of compacted sand – very damp sand.

“You got a bit of a bump,” comes the soft reply.

“And you’re not supposed to sacrifice yourself. Idiot.”

“You like idiots.” Derek sounds as flirty as Stiles usually does.

“Where are we?”

“Some basement or maybe a storm cellar.”

“My ass feels like it’s _after_ the storm.” Stiles wiggles a little but it doesn’t improve the uncomfortable wetness of the floor in any way.

“Your ass is fine.”

“Yeah, you’d know.”

“I do.” Derek tightens his arms a little.

Stiles sighs. This is like old times, the being kidnapped as much as the banter. “You think we’re going to die. That’s the reason you’re nice to me all of a sudden. You’re thinking, what the heck, I’ll throw the weird kid a bone as my last good deed on earth.”

“First of all, you haven’t been _the weird kid_ for a long time. Secondly I’m _always_ nice. And thirdly we’re _not_ going to die. See the light up there? That’s a window. You’re going to climb out of it and get help.”

Stiles blinks up at a small rectangular patch near the ceiling. It’s covered with newspaper and barely lighter than the rest of the room. “Yeah, big guy, think again. There’s no way I can reach that. Why don’t you try it? You could probably jump high enough.”

“I could but I won’t fit through. Only your skinny ass will get through that opening. I also rather suspect some wolfbane on the window sill or the outside. The door is made of mountain ash.”

The hunters are thorough, Stiles has to give them that. He still doubts he can reach up there even if Derek gives him a leg up. “Yep, just give me a minute to wake up properly.” He closes his eyes and lets Derek rearrange him in his lap until he’s sideways against Derek’s chest and his ass cheeks welcome the warmth of Derek’s thighs under him. Sometimes the way Derek can manhandle him into whatever position he desires is just thrilling. “I’m really cold,” he mutters.

After what could have been seconds, but was probably minutes if not hours, he opens his eyes again. Either his sight has gotten used to the diffuse light or it’s dawn.

“We need to move now,” Derek says.

“Okay.” There’s a strange fuzzy feeling in Stiles’s head, not exactly pain but more like his brain is enveloped in cotton wool. He gets up and luckily Derek’s there to steady him when he gets dizzy. “The fuck’s wrong with me? Did I take something? Did they give me anything?”

“No.” Derek takes his hand and pulls him to the other wall where the window is. “I think you might have a concussion. Here, I’ll boost you up.”

Fortunately Stiles isn’t required to expend much energy. Derek bends down with his hands interlaced and straightens without much effort when Stiles puts his right foot there. From there it’s only a small step onto Derek’s shoulders. Still there’s nothing to hold onto except the wall to keep his balance.

“Yeah, big guy, this ain’t gonna work. I’m at least ten inches away from the damn window. But it’s nice to know you think I’m in the tall and handsome category.” Suddenly he can feel Derek grab his shoes and gets a boost even higher as Derek steadily pushes him until his arms are outstretched. The window is in easy reach now and doesn’t even look particularly sturdy. He’s never stopped being impressed by what werewolves can accomplish. “God, I love you.”

Without warning his support gives way as Derek lets go of his feet but then catches him around the waist to lower him gently onto the ground. Stiles’s expression of surprise is not a squeak, not at all.

“Stop saying shit like that,” Derek demands.

For a moment Stiles has to think about what he said. Then he gives a defiant grin. “Why? It’s true.”

“Then say it like you mean it.”

Never again will Stiles not speak up out of fear. It has always been the height of irony that all his problems over the last years seem to stem from an inability to find the right words – or any words at all, that Stiles _Talk-a-mile-a-minute_ Stilinski messed things up by _not_ talking. Nobody who knows him can get their head around that, including and especially Stiles.

“I love you. I loved you then. I love you now. And I suspect I’ll still love you the day I die although I’m rather hoping it won’t be today.” He steps even closer and kisses Derek. It’s as simple as that. Just a tiny little step and there’s lips and tongues together, and hands grabbing on.

Then Derek gently pushes him away. “Stiles.” Or rather he tries to push him away but Stiles isn’t having it. So they continue what’s long overdue.

“Stiles.”

Stiles ignores him until Derek pushes his shoulders far enough that he can no longer reach Derek’s face albeit not for want of trying. Eventually he opens his eyes to see Derek trying not to smile.

“There’s a time and a place. This is neither.”

Ah yes, they’re locked a basement and were trying to escape. “Well, I suggest you don’t demand professions of love in the middle of our escape.”

“Actually what I was demanding was _not_ to profess your love in the middle of our escape, but I’ll let it slide. Now get out of here and get help.”

“Okay.” Stiles dutifully steps into Derek’s hands again and gets hoisted back up to the window. After managing to open it, he squeezes through the opening with some difficulty, surfacing inside a large bush. Then he pokes his head back into the room looking down at Derek and not wanting to leave him there. “Don’t die while I’m gone, buddy. We’ve got plans.”

“Looking forward to it.” Derek makes a shooing gesture with his hands, his eyebrows drawing together to give it more urgency.

The bush gives enough cover to hunker down and look around. He seems to be on a farm with lots of different buildings, each more dilapidated than the next. There are some people milling about, walking from one place to another or getting into cars which are out of sight in one of the barns and driving off at high speed. There is a general air of agitation, underlined by the fact that everyone is armed to the teeth.

The vague idea he had of overwhelming their captors or procuring a gun and freeing Derek single-handedly evaporates pretty quickly and that’s before he takes into account that he’s still woozy and his headache is returning with a vengeance. This is like a war zone or at least the preparation for a war. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Taking advantage of the overall semi-orderly chaos, he manages to flit from building to building until he’s at the farthest point away from the main house. So far, so good. The back of the farm has a grassy area leading to a rundown orchard. He wonders if he should just walk over there and hope that anybody seeing him will assume he belongs with them. In the end he crouches down and runs as fast as he can while keeping his body as low as possible. When he reaches the trees and is far enough in to be reasonably concealed he stops, breathing much harder than he should after such a short sprint and eventually emptying his stomach onto the ground. _Yep, that’s definitely a concussion._

The orchard is bigger than expected and he walks for what feels like a long time but that may also be down to how slow he is. He vomits a couple more times but his stomach was empty to start with as Sabrina and he were on their way to breakfast, so it’s mainly retching up small amounts of disgusting fluid. His head feels like it’s going to explode at any moment and a welcome relief it would be, too.

The trees end as abruptly as they started and to his dismay there’s another large strip of grass between him and a ten-foot wire mesh fence which is nicely decorated at the top with spirals of barbed wire. No one’s in sight but there are high seats, fortified like towers, at regular intervals and he can’t tell if they’re manned or not. From the feel of the situation up until now, he highly suspects they are. Tiredly he sinks to the ground making sure he’s hidden by a tree and closes his eyes.

He could wait for darkness and slip over the fence then. It would be his best chance to get through because as tired as he is it will take him at least two or three minutes to get up the wire mesh. But it’s only morning and Derek is still in there and Stiles won’t allow anyone to hurt Derek ever again. Who knows what the hunters will do to him especially when they notice that Stiles is gone? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

He shimmies up with his back pressed against the trunk of the tree until he’s standing again. _Great stuff._ He can barely stay upright and the longer he waits the weaker he’ll get. He’ll have to move now. The grass is high although not high enough to hide him even as he crawls across it. What he’s banking on is that if there are any lookouts they’ll be doing just that: looking outwards, guarding against someone approaching the property from the outside.

He makes for a spot in the middle between two of the high seats so both of them are about a hundred yards away in either direction. So far he’s moved slowly so that if anyone watching the outside won’t be seeing the movement out of the corner of their eyes. Now his best bet is speed. He takes off his jacket and clamps the collar between his teeth.

 _Take a deep breath and… go... no, take another deep breath… and another_. His limbs feel like lead but he pushes himself up and reaches as high as he can into the mesh. Luckily the spaces between the wire are large enough to get his toes in because there’s no chance he would be able to wrench himself up otherwise. When he reaches the top, he throws his jacket over the barbed wire but it lands awkwardly, half folded and only giving the barest strip of protection against the spikes. It’s not a particularly thick jacket anyway so it probably won’t make much of a difference.

And then a bullet whistles past him, just missing him by a couple of inches and he gets a desperate jolt of energy and strength, heaving himself up, leaning over to grab the other side of the fence and somersaulting over it. The barbed wire digs into his stomach in several places, and he feels sick and dizzy and weak, landing with a prayer that he won’t break or sprain anything on top of everything else. The gunfire is picking up now with several people shooting at him from the towers. The dirt around him sprays up where the bullets land.

Later, he can’t say how he made it into the woods. They seem miles away and he feels like he’s running in slow motion expecting to be shot at any second now. However, experience has taught him that it’s far more difficult to hit a moving target than TV makes it look, so he credits zigzagging with his miraculously unscathed escape.

When he has to cross a small stream he drinks his fill from the icy water. It feels very mountain-man-like. He’s never really drunk any water that hasn’t come from a faucet or bottle. However, despite the earthy taste it makes him feel better. The ground is sloping, eventually leading to a road with another wood on the other side. He’s worried about the hunters coming after him, either through the woods or along this road, but he basically stumbles onto the asphalt with the last of his strength. He can’t go any further and he can’t stay here. He should get up. _Get up! Get up before you get run over or caught!_ He rolls onto his side and vomits up some of the stream water. _Get up, you idiot, Derek’s in danger!_ He finally makes it onto his knees just in time to see a car coming towards him and watch it barreling down on him with screeching brakes. There’s an elderly couple in the front seats, both of them with expressions of horror frozen on their faces and he can’t even close his eyes. The car swerves around him at the last second, veering left to right violently until it comes to a stop fifty yards down the road.

Stiles lies back down because it’s all he can do. After a while the driver comes over and looks down at him. He seems as tall as a giant from the perspective of lying on the ground. Stiles feebly lifts one hand. “Hey, can I use your phone, please, sir? I need to call the office.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I thought you were dead, kid.”

   

 

_Stiles rolled out of bed and put his boxers on. A shower would have been preferable, but he just wanted to get to his own apartment where he could properly relax. Following the trail of his clothes to the door he got a little more dressed with every couple of steps._

_“Are you leaving?” Parker said from the bed._

_“Yeah, early shift tomorrow.” It was a lie but it was less cruel than the truth._

_“You could stay and just… you know… sleep here.”_

_From the tone alone Stiles knew where this was going. He’d been here before, not often, just once. He’d slipped up again. It was no use to pretend otherwise. After giving himself a few moments breathing space while doing up his jeans, he finally looked at Parker. The man was beautiful, dark and broody looks belying his habitual cheerfulness, with cheekbones to cut yourself on and a body that made Stiles want to fuck him, plain and simple. They’d been doing that a lot over the last month._

_The sex really wasn’t the problem, not at all. Or maybe it_ was _, because it brought Stiles back here more times than he would have liked to admit to himself. Over the last couple of years he’s had a few one-night-stands, which he enjoyed because they’d been clear-cut. And if the guy turned out to be an asshole after the fuck, so much the better, then Stiles didn’t need to feel guilty. But this was the second time he slid into a friends-with-benefits situation without really noticing it._

_He liked Parker, who was kind and funny, and he liked having sex with him because Parker was good at that. They were compatible in their tastes and needs. Up until now. Because Parker’s needs had turned emotional and that was something Stiles simply couldn’t provide._

_“I can’t do this anymore.”_

_Parker’s face fell then hardened. “I see.”_

_That was it apparently. Jacob had ranted and pleaded and cussed. Parker just nodded in a resigned manner, as if he’d seen it coming. He probably had. It wasn’t that hard to work out._

_A little off balance by the lack of questions and recriminations Stiles was at a loss of what to say. Eventually he went with, “I’m sorry,” and turned to leave._

_“Sure… strange how you only worked that out after we fucked one last time.”_

_On the long walk to his own place Stiles felt more devastated by that simple remark than he would have by tears and reprimands. The gentle ironic tone and the truth of the words pierced right through him. He felt like shit. He always felt like shit after he’d been with someone, like a fraud, although the lust was always genuine and overwhelming in the heat of the moment. But afterwards he missed Derek even more._

_He resolutely wiped a tear away that had escaped down his cheek. “Stop that. You’re not the injured party here. Not then, not now.” But the fact remained that he’d despised himself since Derek left and sometimes it led to him just not caring about anything or anyone and that led to even more despair. He would never find what he’d lost and tonight Parker had made him aware of the reason for that. He simply didn’t deserve it._

 

 


End file.
